Only the Beginning
by 4getfulimaginator
Summary: Lieutenant!Killian and Princess!Emma AU. When Princess Emma and Lieutenant Jones are shipwrecked on an island that forces you to confront your greatest temptations and deepest desires, the sparks that have always existed between the two are sure to come to an unbridled head. Lieutenant Duckling (Captain Swan) three-shot based on my own prompt.
1. Part I - Where There's Smoke

**A/N: ****Some ideas were inspired by **_snowanchester_** and a mesmerizing painting by Edward Blake Leighton entitled "The Accolade" ― yes, that "plotline" will come into play ― while the rest come from obsessing over Captain Swan. Gifset for the prompt is on my Tumblr. And woo-hoo, this is my first M-rated fic...aside from scenes in **_Nevermore_**.**

**And no, I cannot write one-shots. I've given up on that. This will definitely be three parts - my apologies for the shortness of this chapter.**

**(And yes, **_**every single one **_**of ****my other fics are still in the works.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing... Well, except for the plot.**

* * *

She couldn't fricking believe this. Damn, damn, _damn_.

Fuming inside, Emma huffed as she fought to reach the shoreline, the trails of the stupid dress she had on not making it any easier to evade the waves that kept pushing her back into the ocean.

She was soaking wet, she was cold, and she was stranded. All in all, she was _pissed off_, good and proper.

The moment she reached sand beyond the line of the incoming tide, she plopped down on the ground and refused to move. That didn't stop her from opening one eye when she heard a distinct masculine voice curse very loudly. Repeatedly. Boy, did he _really_ have a sailor's mouth.

Currently, Lieutenant Killian Jones was sporting thoroughly doused hair, dripping clothes, and the most frustrated expression she had ever seen on his face. He was nearly kicking at the water by the time he had reached her side, muttering angrily to himself and swearing colorfully when his soaked boots squelched audibly. It was incredibly unfair ― though everything about this situation was unfair to begin with ― that he still could manage to look very handsome, in a windswept way...

"Bloody bugger it all!" he hissed, throwing his scabbard down and aiming the toe of his boot at the hilt. It went flying some twenty feet away.

_Okay, maybe not so attractive._

Emma grinned despite herself when she realized that as of right now, the very prim naval officer, who usually was a right prude with the most immature attitude, most closely resembled a drowned rat ― one very cranky, annoyed rat.

Well, she probably looked about the same, with her torn gown and disheveled state.

Bracing herself, she decided to ask the question ― _it was a safe guess_ ― he would not like to hear. "So...what do we do now? Do you know where we are?"

He groaned when she also saw that his spyglass, sextant, and compass were certainly _not_ in his satchel. "I don't bloody know, Princess."

"But you're the soldier here, the naturalist. Surely you can signal for help, find some way to get us out of―"

"_Damn it to hell _― can't you bleeding understand that I don't know?" He dug deeper into his satchel, searching his pockets frantically next and then grasping at his water canteen. Whatever conclusion he had drawn from all three efforts must have been negative, for he was flushing crimson from fury, his normally polite demeanor gone.

When she tried to continue her directive, he snapped vehemently at her, "If you're so smart, lass, why don't you get us off this damn island and back to the _Jewel of the Realm_? Because the only thing I see you doing ― time and time again ― is sitting on your arse, waiting for others to take the lead first!"

Her mouth must have opened of its own accord at his flaming retort, because she was fully conscious of closing it. Then, as his words sunk in, she began to see red. How _dare_ he― "Killian Jones," she said shakily after a second's pause, "you are a rude, mean, ungrateful _ass ― _ blaming me when none of this is my fault ― and, not to mention―"

"_Bloody damnation!_" he spat out at her, his jaw clenched and his teeth gritted. "You're a spoiled brat of a _princess_ who's never had to fend for herself her whole life, always pampered behind stone walls and with servants at her beck and call!" he returned, clearly not over his misguided rage. "So don't you bloody dare tell me what I am, Your mighty Highness ― have a look in a damn mirror first―"

It only made Emma more determined to have the last word in their banter.

Or, in this case, the last gesture.

Without thinking twice about her emotionally induced instinct, Emma raised her hand and slapped him hard, his head snapping to the side from the impact. Hefting herself to her feet, despite that they hurt dreadfully and she wanted to sink back down into the ground, she stomped away in as dignified a manner as she could muster, leaving a fuming Jones behind her.

The jungle looked thick, untamed, formidable, and oppressive. Should she really be taking a chance like this and turning her back on her only companion because her _pride_ was hurt?

Emma sighed, thinking her options through. She knew how to survive in the wild, thanks to guidance from both her mother and father, but that didn't mean it was a good idea to ignore the lieutenant and take off on her own.

They were friends once ― still were, by all accounts ― so maybe she should give him another chance...

"Oi, if you faint from the heat in there, darling, remember not to call out for me! You know why? 'Cause I'll be out here, waiting for the bloody ship to come by so they can see where I am and rescue me ― like a sane person would do!" came his ill-tempered shouts, the vehement dislike in his cross tone hitting her ears harshly.

_Not a chance in hell._

Growling, she only looked back once, making her decision. Swinging the sword she'd salvaged over her shoulder and onto her back, Emma took one step forward and then another, ready to confront the wildlife within. Heck, it was better than expecting the clueless sailor on the beach to come up with another remedy besides _waiting_.

He wasn't yelling after her anymore. No more swearing or lecturing or shadowing her back. He probably cared less about her. And broiling inwardly, she felt the same about him. Or so she _wanted_ to believe, because a pang of hurt was throbbing somewhere within her as she disappeared into the undergrowth and he was finally out of sight.

But her parting thought, before she withdrew the sword from its sheath and began to cut a path through the hanging vines, was concerning her would-be savior. She paused only long enough to wonder how it would take him to realize that his blade was missing...

Shaking that misgiving away, farther and farther in Emma went across unknown territory, heedless of the distant cries of the man officially responsible for her safety.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not sure when the next part will be up, but be forewarned: there will be smut. Oh yes.**

**Last but not least, please leave a review!**


	2. Part II - Glorious Fever

**A/N: Ahem ― this will be the smuttiest fic I've ever written yet to date, and because I had a relapse not too long ago when I found out that maybe my smut scene in **_**Nevermore**_** was kind of silly and immature, I'm begging you not to laugh...**

**By the way, I just posted on my Tumblr blog a graphic/edit made especially for this story, and there's also a gifset. Both can be found through my fic page there.**

**Wow, over 100 followers after one chapter ― you guys are the best audience ever! Thanks so much for reading! **

* * *

_You're my wildfire every single night,_

_We are alive,_

_And the stars make love to the universe,_

_And you touch me..._

"Empire" by Shakira

* * *

Some have said that there's fire where there's smoke.

Whenever her father would ever quote some version of that adage to her, either during hunting or sword-fighting (or any endeavor, really), Emma would scoff at the words, because cause and effect were such a natural conclusion that it didn't deserve to be mocked like that.

But perhaps that where sayings originated in the first place: most people were so bereft of common sense that they needed witty lines and truisms to remind them of what was right before their very eyes. And one pair of eyes she knew all too well, stormy and turbid when angered or wronged, lucent and bright when engaged in his duties or surrounded by the people he loved.

Well, for Killian Jones, it was _one_ person: Captain Liam Jones. In spite of their visible difference in age, their different temperaments, and the fact that they were brothers, both men always acted like best friends, guarding each other's backs and caring for each other's hearts.

Their familial bond was unlike anything she had ever seen, having no siblings herself. _Yet, _Emma thought to herself as she extended her legs in the cool water, sighing when the gentle ripples and gliding movements of her feet had a calming effect on her. When she judged that she was sufficiently rested, she slipped into her boots, grabbed her borrowed sword, and walked off to find the beach again, where a certain prat was. _Damn it, she had slapped him..._

How odd, that in the past five years she has been acquainted with the lieutenant, the axis of her world has shifted too far too quickly. First, the horrible twisted rivalry between her mother and the Evil Queen, Regina, had finally ended, Snow White's kingdom saved by the love of an outcast archer and thief for the woman who was renown for her skills in magic and her fixation on hatred. Then Rumplestiltskin's son, Baelfire, entered her life.

She had befriended Bae and, according to her parents' description of her behavior, had allowed her naiveté to influence her feelings toward him. David didn't approve of him, though Snow was more understanding of Emma's young love for the boy, she eventually sided with her husband and agreed that a union between their daughter and the child of the Dark One was altogether a terrible alliance. Rumplestiltskin might have changed due to his new romance with a girl named Belle and his devotion to Bae, but he was not to be trusted.

As for Killian... Their story wasn't much to tell, really. He had been introduced at court when she was nearly fourteen, a foreigner exiled from another land because of _moral _principles. All she had thought of him on first sight was that yes, he was handsome, eloquent...and as pig-headed a man as she ever saw one. She learned quickly that he was obsessed with what he called "good form," his chambers were as neat as a pin (servants' gossip, not personal opinion), and he never looked at a woman unless to criticize her. Well...again, that's what all the ladies _said_. Emma herself was usually too busy training or finishing her studies to be involved in the flirtation and useless chatter that filled the corridors of the castle. Still...she had gazed more than once at the rather charming young lieutenant, with his dreams of sailing the seven seas and exploring worlds. It was a laudable ambition, and she envied him for the opportunity her father would give him to do so. King David rather liked him and his brother.

Then there was that time when Killian was set up by a jealous visiting nobleman, who had noticed the crown princess' pointed attention toward the navy officer. He stole the crown jewels from her parents' bedroom and tricked the servants into believing that Killian Jones had smuggled them into his chambers. The evidence was in the right place, proof complete for all to see.

But despite her parents' reluctance to listen to Killian's pleas of innocence, Emma heard honesty in his voice and saw it in his eyes. It was one of her talents, really, to see what others thought was hidden, and she was loathe to let a man she secretly admired take the fall for another's crime because of his stubborn sense of honor and his inability to save himself.

She had cornered Sir William and gotten the truth out of him at knifepoint. Needless to say, the king and queen had been less than surprised at her methods, pretended to act shocked, and then apologized profusely to a distraught lieutenant and his loyal captain brother.

When hearsay of her involvement in his case spread and reached the man in question, she was startled to find him poised outside her room one day, holding a choice bouquet of buttercups and a shy smile on his face.

And for a time, the princess and the sailor became good friends, and she realized quickly that she never wanted their bond to be broken. What she didn't even want to admit to herself was that there were moments in the night where she found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to be desirous in his eyes and be stroked by his hand. Such attraction was dangerous to accept, and she therefore dispelled it as best she could, keeping lust at bay by fervently denying it.

Killian Jones destroyed all of those hopes when he left court with his brother, assigned some important mission by her father, and worse of all, he didn't even say good-bye to her. When he returned two years later, she didn't want to see him at all, let alone speak to him. His betrayal of her good faith, of her fears that she would lose everyone she cared for (not that she told him about that), stung very deeply, and she was notorious for holding grudges.

She still hadn't forgiven him.

Some would deem his slight a petty one and simply disregard it, but she wasn't able to let go of the loss she had felt when he departed, the loneliness he had left behind as a farewell gift. She never confided in either Snow or David about that particular wound, but she saw the way they looked at her sometimes; it was a safe deduction that they understood more than they were telling.

Now, to be stranded on some stupid little island with this man, of all possibilities, was absurd. It was terrible, horrible, ridiculous, hateful, bad, bad, _bad_―

"Emma! Emma, where are you?"

She groaned. Oh no. He'd found her.

True to her expectations, Killian Jones appeared in front of her in less than a minute, panting very hard and looking absolutely livid. The moment he laid his eyes on her, he strode forward, both hands clenched into fists. "You may be a princess and my sovereign's daughter, _Your Highness_," he growled, almost before her, "but that gives you no excuse to commandeer our only means of defense, not mention parade yourself around like a peacock when you have no idea what inhabits this land!"

She rolled her eyes, throwing the scabbard down at his feet. "Keep it. The blade was nearly blunt anyway. As as for being an _inhabited land_," she retorted sarcastically, "I just circled the whole _island_. It's small, with plenty of herbal growth, but spectacularly void of any company besides your _charming_ self."

He was too occupied buckling the swordbelt around his waist to look at her, but she found herself staring at him. His white uniform had dried, and it seemed he had unbuttoned his shirt mid-chest (because of the heat?). The tight, starched fabric was adhering to his form unscrupulously, and despite her irritation with him, she didn't fail to notice the dark hair covering his skin, muscular limbs tensing from his movements―

"How _did_ you find me, anyway?" she inquired, peering at her soiled blue gown with distaste. She needed breeches. Or long trousers. And a proper shirt. Otherwise, she'd be covered in ticks and gnats by the end of the day and she'd be sweating profusely. But truth be told, it didn't feel that warm in the sun, though they were in the tropics.

Maybe she just hated dresses altogether. After all, she would do anything to get rid of her corset for good ― even burn it.

He snorted. "You left a trail wide enough for even the most dim-witted animal to find, Princess." His sword snapped into place and he finally faced her, his expression now calm.

_Oh, she'd had just enough of his snark._ First it was his coldness during the journey to and from Ariel and Eric's kingdom, and now here of all places. "Let's make something clear here, Lieutenant," she said firmly, arms over her chest. "While we wait for your brother to rescue us, you will address me by my name, Emma―"

A devilish grin crossed his lips, and her breath caught in her throat. How did the shy naval officer manage to be so annoying in one instant and so tantalizing the next? So much so, that he was almost like...

_Like a pirate._

"Then by all means, love, follow your own advice and don't stand on ceremony," he murmured, drawing closer. His hand reached out to take one of her windblown curls and gently rearrange it behind her ear. "Call me by mine."

She immediately wanted to do the opposite just to spite him, but her inner senses had other ideas. "_Killian_," she breathed out instinctively, her tone transforming one simple whispered word into a low moan.

His eyes widened, and then they descended down her figure, pausing. Emma felt herself blush hotly, but she couldn't look away from him. He had suddenly lost his attachment to propriety's rules as he gazed so boldly at her.

Then he coughed, bowed his head, and turned away. "We need to find shelter_._"

Because being with him under the same roof ― or canopy of trees ― would be _such_ a good idea. Emma cleared her throat as demurely as possible. "Yes...of course. I think I saw a cave on the west side―"

"Excellent. Let's be off then," he interrupted stiffly. Moving as if to proceed in that direction, he paused and then scowled at her. "But first, I need to be sure that I can trust you not to act foolishly again―"

"_I_ acted foolishly?" she cried out indignantly. "Says the man who decided that sitting on under a coconut tree was the best plan when we're stranded like this!"

He gritted his teeth but didn't pursue the argument further. "Alright, _Princess_ ― since you deem yourself to be the cleverest one here, with the best ideas in hand, why don't you lead? I'll follow ― but don't blame me if anything goes wrong, y'hear?" His tone was so condescending that she wanted to scream back at him...God, she was angry at him all over again...

Growling, she turned her nose up at him as she walked off, only to almost trip over her own feet when they got caught under a protruding plant root. He snickered behind her back, and she felt her blood boil. _Damn impudent, foppish man..._

_Not only would this trek be lengthy_, she thought to herself as she limped off with sore toes, _it was going to be very, very painful._

* * *

By the time they made it to the cave, Killian was growling from frustration. Emma absolutely refused to listen to him at all, giving him the classic silent treatment in retribution for his untimely outburst, and God, it was actually bloody _working_. Halfway through their journey, she stopped short, then disappeared into a series of tall bushes. Thinking it was nature's call and his duty to avert his eyes, he waited patiently for her to emerge. After god only knows how many minutes later ― much too long for a simple piss, even for a goddamn infuriating woman ― the princess came strutting out of leaves..._half-naked_.

Her gown ― which had been too provocative in its own right ― was literally cut into pieces, the top portion hugging her upper torso from under her arms until right above her waist, and the lower half starting right above her hips and descending down to her calves. There was no corset to speak of.

_Thank God it was obvious she was still wearing her other undergarments. _

The result was him seeing white and struggling to breathe properly through his now-too-tight collar, the heated air around him intensified to the point that his skin felt like it had been scalded.

And like a fool, he had turned his lust into anger, scolding her mercilessly for being improper, for dressing indecently. She had said nothing to his rebukes, only shaking her head at him and rolling her eyes before proceeding onward over the trail she had created, muttering something about "just being too warm in the damn sun."

There was no denying that Snow White and David's daughter was the epitome of beauty, and that all who met her were instantaneously floored by her good looks ― until they experienced her quick, outspoken tongue and sharp mind.

From the moment they had been introduced at court, he, on the other hand, had been awestruck by all facets. And utterly, utterly flustered to boot. _She is quite a woman_, Liam would tell him when they discussed the royal family on occasion. He would nod in response, keep his thoughts to himself...but then, in the depths of the night, his bottled daydreams would be released and there were moments when he just succumbed to his desires and literally took matters into his own hands. He wasn't entirely sure _when_ his honest infatuation had converted into irrepressible passion, but it was more than certain that the change was here to stay.

Perchance he caught a glimpse of her returning to the royal stables, daring riding habit and tight trousers putting her lithe figure on on display as she led her steed to its quarters, and his sordid fantasies included him kidnapping her (playfully, of course) on horseback, carrying her to the nearest grove of trees, and unbinding her body from its constraints and exploring it, riding her hips until her bare breasts bounced wildly and her taut nipples entered his willing lips, tasting her sweet mouth with his tongue until he couldn't sense anything that wasn't _Emma_...

Or there were her sword-fight practices, when she was dressed in loose, see-through garments, and he could picture exactly what he was longing for. One of his most frequent imaginings was her response to his ardor, how she would run her lovely hands down his chest, her golden hair falling over her perfect shoulders. It would hide their kisses from the world and keep them sacred, like the winding branches of a weeping willow tree, a curtain that naturally protected and was cherished for it. She would want to find every part of him, battling with him for dominance and surrendering to defeat when he showed her all the things he could do with his hands, his mouth... How she would moan and cry out in his arms when he took her hard, bringing her pleasure more than once. His teeth nipping at her soft skin, her wondrous thighs squeezing and gripping his waist, her feet fondling his legs, her tight channel filled with his aching cock like a sword buried to the hilt in its rightful scabbard―

Then...the more innocent moments. He pictured sweeping her windswept locks to the side and worshiping her beautiful neck, caressing her body as they lay together, his nose brushing over her jaw as he printed soft kisses all over her face...curling into each other and feeling all that was growing between them, their souls bare.

Eventually, it all got worse and worse until he required his nightlong _activities _or he would go mad with want, seeing no one else but her. It certainly didn't help that he'd never had a woman in the first place, that this physical prowess was just wishful thinking on his part, provoked partly by sailors' talk and male hearsay. And, to top it all off, he wanted the bloody _princess of the realm_ so desperately. Someone untouchable, unreachable...for someone like him. His moods were turbulent, his attitude sour and bitter during the day, and when his brother would question his erratic behavior, he could only wave the inquiries off, ashamed to tell him anything when he already knew what the answer would be.

Liam would tell him to find a lovely lass to _take care_ of his problems in that respect, if it was bothering him so much. _Too bad that the one he desired had to be the very one he could never have._

But how could he explain that the princess was bringing to his knees every time she so much as passed by him, glowing with warmth and passion that he was sure only she possessed? How could anyone understand that all other women seemed blasé and insipid, their talk an endless string of monotony? How could he map out when and why and how he had started to see what women were ― what a _real _woman was ― the instant he had seen Emma?

He should rid himself of this attraction, sinful and wrong and paralyzing―

_God_, he couldn't reason with himself anymore. Reasoning was madness when she was sanity. He could never believe the sailors' talk of being bewitched by a woman, but now he did, and despite his attempts to subdue himself and his traitorous imagination, none of it worked.

When she spoke, her candid words incited rage, laughter, rebellion, intrigue... When she moved, it was with fire, with wind, with heart. Now, stuck on this island alongside her, he didn't know what to think or _how_ to think. At every turn, Emma was exasperating, stubborn, asinine at times...

Then she would merely look at him, her green eyes piercing his, and all he could see is every curve, every line of her face. The way her exposed skin tempted him with what was still covered beneath the intact fabric of her new attire. The way he began to lose control of himself, feeling that all too familiar urge rise.

It was strange, though, since his fantasies had all but faded during the long years at sea, where her face became a memory and he could only see its outline, details obscured. Why were they back so suddenly ― and so forcefully?

The whole ordeal was so odd that he found himself with a throbbing headache and...ahem. He peered down at his crotch and suppressed a groan.

"Did you say something?" Emma was staring at him bemusedly, both brows raised on high as she studied him.

_God, she could study him at a much closer range...and preferably when they were both unclothed..._

Killian bit back an undignified croak when he tried to answer her, feeling his face grow hot and bothered and _bloody damnation, she would see the state of him any minute now..._

"N–nothing," he stammered, stepping around her so he could gain the better footing and conceal his front from her view.

For all the years he'd known her, he had tried so hard to cover his lust with harsh words, with brutal glances, with indifference. _Pretending ― always pretending._ He was so conflicted by his feelings that he couldn't decide what was better: having her know the truth and experiencing her possible rejection, or leaving her in the dark and effectively silencing any chance of fulfilling those dreams of his...

But every time he had this argument with himself, the same conclusion presented itself: he was a lieutenant in her father's navy, a sailor amongst hundreds, and she was the crown princess, favored and noticed by all.

Hopes? Wishes? Chances? _Hah._ He had none. If he told her, she would laugh at him. If he told her parents of his intention to court her, they would throw him out of the palace, no doubt, because of _bad form_.

It didn't matter in the least that Emma had taken special measures to save his reputation once, or that they had grown closer before he had left for the open sea. He liked to think that they were friends then, or as much of friends as a subject and his future queen could be. They had only talked, shared each other's company for minutes at a time ― he had never even escorted her around the royal gardens or shared a dance with her during one of the Charmings' famous balls ― but he still treasured what they had had. No one besides his brother had ever cared for him in that way.

He remembered all too well his reception when Liam and he had come back to the Enchanted Forest after two years. _Two wretched years. _

He had been nigh eighteen when they had first landed at that port after their venture in Neverland, his brother wounded by their king's treachery and seeking respite during exile from home. The instant Liam had spoken with King David and Queen Snow White, he had been happier than Killian had seen in a very long time. But for him...it was the welcoming smile of a teenage Emma, young and bright and so winsome, that had snared his heart in its guileless trap.

In comparison, their second homecoming was horrific. Their Majesties were kind and understanding, as always, but Her Highness didn't even pay him a second glance. He felt everything inside him rend viciously when Emma continued to ignore him even after he had approached her, refusing to speak with him directly or return his stares.

That night, he indulged himself for the first time in a long time in a flask of hard rum. Or, as his brother would sternly correct, _several_ flasks full. It was an endless struggle, telling himself constantly that he wasn't Emma's equal, that she deserved much better than him and that their stations in life had predetermined their fates. It was a futile one, more like it...because no matter how many times his brain fought using logic and common sense, it couldn't win against his heart.

"Do you think Liam and the others survived the storm?" Emma asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"I hope so ― judging by the lack of debris, we were the only ones who were shipwrecked." It was right to worry about the safety of his brother and the crew, right to worry about their ship, right to worry about what Emma's parents would think when they found out she was missing ― and how wrong it was to let those concerns idly melt into the ground when he was so near her presence. He gulped when she tried to blow some air on her sweaty skin and it didn't work to soothe her. Huffing, she stomped to the nearest tree within reach and snapped off a palm branch, immediately fanning herself. The deafening crack made him jump in his boots, his eyes adhered to her every move.

When she threw her head back to gain better access to her neck with her self-made wind, hair cascading down her back like a golden waterfall, he licked his lips thirstily, fixated on how her barely concealed breasts were rising and falling as she sighed and whimpered and _damn it to hell_, moaned. His hands clenched into fists as she started to breathe faster, and all he could wonder about was if she would make the same noises when they would―

"_Oh_, that feels _so good_," she enunciated, her fingers lingering to check if her flesh was now sated and dry. Killian started to see black spots in his vision when she ran her hands through her hair as well, his shirt sticking to his skin while his pulse increased.

_Enough is enough_, he thought to himself. _Why not indulge in a little recklessness for once, instead of always following the rules? They may not be equals when in society, but here...on this deserted island...she was a woman, and he was simply a man._

He wanted relief from the heat as well.

"Uh, hold this for me, will you?" he commanded brusquely, stripping off his belt and scabbard and dropping both onto her open palms. Her eyes snapped open, and she gaped at the weapon as if she had never seen a sword before.

She only started to blush when he began to unbutton his shirt hurriedly, nearly tearing it off in his haste and yanking it out of his trousers. "What ― what the hell are you doing?" she demanded, sounding outraged. And..._impressed_?

He also stared down at his bare chest, skin pale from being hidden by thick garments but muscles toned from steady toil only a sailor's life could provide. Shrugging, he prepared to throw the discarded article of clothing into the nearest bush, but thought better of it. They had no supplies, and who knew how long they would be here? Best to save all they could, even if it was a dreadful white shirt he never did like wearing much. One that now looked like all the dirt in the world was attached to it.

For now, he'd keep the trousers on, he chuckled to himself. Otherwise, Emma might tie him up to the nearest tree and leave him for dead. Or slap him again. _This lass had gumption, alright. But unfortunately for her...so did he._

"You're right ― it's too absolutely bloody hot around here," he concurred, grinning at her shamelessly when she didn't respond to him. "My God ― have I actually rendered the intrepid Princess _speechless_?" One thing he was certain of was that Emma did _not_ like to be teased in any manner, meaning, or form. He couldn't exactly pinpoint where this daring side of him was coming from, but the more his voluptuous companion paraded herself around him, the less he cared about putting on a show of politeness.

When was the last bleeding time he had done something he _wanted_ to do instead of what he _ought_ to do?

And he _wanted_ to be carefree, not thinking of the views of others for once.

When Emma continued to look anywhere but at him, still flushing a charming shade of red, he clucked his tongue at her, leaned back against the nearest tree, and smirked. "Such modesty, love ― however will we endure this ordeal if you shirk me, hmm?" He had unconsciously dropped his shirt on the dirt, but she bent down to grab it when he moved as if to leave it.

"If you lose this shirt, I _will_ kill you," she growled, bunching it up and throwing it violently at him. "Now let's get to the damn cave."

He stifled a laugh before clearing his throat. "After you, milady." Bowing with a flourish and hoping to win a smile from her in lieu of her irritation, he looked up to see that she had already turned her back on him and was running off at an incredibly fast pace for someone who had almost been fainting from the heat. Her bare legs, long and slender and tempting the hell out of him, flashed from beneath her skirt.

Groaning under his breath, he raced to catch up with her.

* * *

"Well, it's not the palace, but it will have to do." Killian pronounced every syllable distinctly and in a semi-mocking tone, attempting to ruffle his Swan's feathers. He scowled when he noticed that the walls of the cavern were dripping wet.

_Just bloody fantastic._

And apparently, his offhand comment had rubbed Emma the wrong way, because she looked madder than a hornet whose nest had been crushed. She glared at him and refused to proceed farther into their would-be shelter. "Look, _Jones_ ― if you have some sort of problem, then I highly suggest you spit it out _before_ sharing close quarters with me," she spat out.

"Why on earth would you think that?" he countered distractedly, trying to ignore the curves of her hips and how her hands exquisitely framed them. Of course it didn't work.

Emma rolled her eyes. "First of all, just because I've been served all my life doesn't mean I don't know how to do anything useful. I may be used to living in a castle and being a _princess_," she uttered the word with disgust, "but I love being outdoors, and my parents taught me more about survival in the wild that you would believe." She heaved a restless sigh. "Secondly...despite how much we dislike each other, it would be better if we at least try to get along and work together to make it here. There's no telling when your brother will come and...we should really try to make the best of this." Her voice had descended to a low whisper, sad and full of longing.

Killian squashed the will to pull her into his arms and kiss away her worries.

"You think...that I dis–doubt you?" He bit his tongue to catch his slip of the tongue before a wry smile crossed his face. As he slowly approached her, the torch he had lit, thanks to the flintstone he had found near the entrance, illuminated her beauty to new heights, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to love her. However, if she saw the depth of his passion for her, she certainly didn't show it. "Emma...you are the most bloody brilliant person I know. If anyone can live through this, it's you, lass. But I agree...we need to trust each other, to take that leap of faith. Let's not be at war with each other anymore. Let's be allies, aye?"

She eyed his outstretched hand warily, but finally (_finally_) her cross expression softened into one of understanding, and her fingers met his.

Then his lips reached for her skin of their own volition, and he was kissing her hand, his eyes following every movement of her face. Something was flickering there, but he couldn't read the emotion at all...it was too well hidden.

Rapidly was her hand taken from his grasp, and after a pause, she was examining the cave meticulously. "How are we going to sleep in such a humid place with no blankets or..._anything_?"

"Well, it's simple―"

Raising one fine brow, she cocked her head.

He cleared his throat again, growing nervous. "We...we, uh...we just have to sleep...together."

Her jaw dropped open, and the image would have been quite comical had she not been visibly fuming at him. "_Sleep together_?" she hissed. "What kind of pervert are you, Jones?!"

Brushing off such a remark should have been easy for him. After all, he was no stranger to insults and belittling at his expense, as jealousy and envy and plain malice were present in many a person. But the way she questioned the possibility of _them_, however small it ever was or ever would be, caused every fiber of his being to shiver from pain. The feeling was deepest where he believed it had originated, and he had to bite back a bitter retort ― and his acute hurt ― in order to properly explain himself.

"No, _Your Highness_," he said stiffly, "not that kind of _sleeping_. I was talking about real, efficient rest. Naturally, I would never suggest even that willingly. It would be highly bad form, and not to mention ungentlemanly. The idea only crossed my mind because, as you just noted, we have no other garments other than what we're wearing. Keeping each other from freezing to death at night by sleeping close to one another was my only intention, I assure you."

Her eyes narrowed. "This is a _tropical_ island ― it's probably warm at night, anyway." She coughed uncomfortably. "I just pointed out it was wet here ― so thanks, but no thanks. I'll be fine without the...snuggling." Disgust ― it was disgust written on her face, wasn't it? Disgust for him...all for him. _Damn it, Jones._

Killian groaned silently, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Perhaps...perhaps not. I guess...we'll just have to see. I'll...um...set up a fire, and you―"

She shook her head at him. "I'm not helpless, you know!" she huffed. "I'll set the fire ― after you go and get the firewood!"

"Gods, woman!" he growled, losing his temper. No other female in all the realms could be so infuriating as she. "There's a bloody difference between asking and demanding!"

Drawing his sword from his scabbard, he hastened toward the mouth of the cave, but his pride refused to let her have the last word. "And by the way, _Emma_ ― trust doesn't begin with us fighting. If you want me to treat you as an equal, stop acting like you're above me!"

He didn't wait to hear if she had contradicted him. No, he was following that most natural of instincts, where frustration and ire combine into a fierce flame of resentment.

Trying to win Emma Swan was like battling a dragon: you would be incinerated, but the challenge and need to overcome it would be stronger than any fear ― because Emma was both the dragon and the treasure, the obstacle and the goal.

She was a princess with a warrior heart like her mother's, a temperament like her father's.

But he's no knight in shining armor.

And being friends with David and Snow was a very different bone to pick at in comparison to being friends with Emma.

How was it possible...that he could go so fast from wanting her with every breath to wishing he was thousands of leagues away from her?

* * *

The island, in itself, was beautiful. Lush. Fruitful. Exotic, in its own way. Even sort of romantic.

Emma hated it. Every single, last bit of it.

She hated that she had to wander pointlessly through the jungle, by the seashore, over the grassy hills. She hated that the days included weaving palm branches into makeshift mats, collecting coconuts and pineapple and breadfruit for their food supplies, and searching for enough firewood to last the night and keep away wild animals (so far, there weren't any). She hated counting the days by scratching tally marks on the wall of the cave. She hated the routine of waiting, searching, storing, hoping, and then deflating. She hated having to always go down to the small stream not that far from their shelter in order to get a drink of water.

And she hated the phrase "everything we need is right in front of us," courtesy of one eagerly motivated, overly enthusiastic Killian Jones.

She didn't even want to think of the distant luxury of toilets and bathtubs and fresh clothes (_and soap!_). It hurt too much. Thank heavens the storm had hit when she had been in a simple shift and nightgown, with no time to put on a corset. Dismantling it would have been much greater trouble than a mere gown.

True, she had had a good laugh on seeing Killian desperately try to go fishing with a long stick, a windy rope he had braided together from thick, long, blade-like leaves of some plant he had found, and a hook he had fashioned from the end of one of his suspenders (which he hated wearing, apparently, and therefore had hidden them in his satchel during their voyage). But the look on his face when he had failed, desperate and annoyed, had stunned her into silence, and she had felt compelled to squeeze his arm gently and give him a sympathetic smile.

He didn't smile back at her that day.

But most of all, she hated nighttime, when she would be faced with a brooding and mute Killian, who stared into the fire on end and didn't speak to her at all, the complete opposite of his daytime self. So she would stare at the flames as well, dream of soft beds and hearty meals and her horse and her parents...and then she'd mumble her excuses before going to their large sleeping mat. The palm leaves were itchy and stiff and dry, but it was better than sleeping on the ground. Then, minutes or hours later when she still couldn't fall asleep, her thoughts keeping her up, the careful sailor would finally come to bed, dropping down and turning on his side so that their backs were facing. At least they could sleep in their clothes.

She was a light sleeper. He was a heavy sleeper. That probably explained why she was the only one who was highly aware of the..._interesting_ positions their bodies were in at the break of dawn when she'd awaken.

Sometimes, she would be facing his back and he would be facing the wall, her arm over his waist and her head resting between his shoulders. Once, they were just facing each other and not touching. Or she was snuggled up in his arms, held close to him as if they were lovers.

Those were the..._innocent_ scenarios.

As for the..._others_... The worst had been when she had woken up with his face nestled between her breasts, his arms completely wrapped around her and his legs hopelessly entangled with hers. His head in the crook of her neck, his hands on her waist, her hands on his chest...she could handle all of those. But that particular time, when she had tried to extricate herself from a very, very compromising situation, he had refused to let go of her. Deeply asleep (she had checked thoroughly), he had gone even further than just holding her so intimately.

She didn't know if he had done it on purpose or he really had been dreaming, but his hands had risen, sloping over her sides, his hips rutting slowly against her, and then...

His mouth had taken action.

His fingers, curling over the top of her adjusted dress and pulling the fabric down. His lips placing warm, wet kisses on the newly freed skin, which happened to belong to the tops of her breasts. It drove sensual heat between her legs and made her body shudder inside.

Emma had thought he would stop his ministrations once he reached her neck, but instead of going up, he went _down._ Feeling his tongue repeatedly tease her nipples through the remainder of her dress and shift, one of his hands traveling swiftly down her naked stomach and stroking her thighs beneath her skirt...

She had finally bolted and jumped up, which had sent Killian sprawling and rolling until he hit the stone wall. Of course that had awakened him, still dazed and unsure of what was happening, but she hadn't stayed around to find out more about his..._reaction_. He had been probably dreaming..._wet dreams_.

Her parents had had "the talk" with her when she was ten, and then in more detail later, when she was an adolescent. Her maids constantly gossiped about their affairs, there was dirty literature stashed in the library... She wasn't ignorant when it came to sex. Inexperienced ― yes. But not ignorant.

Being physically close to him was dangerous, for him and for her. Some things could never be taken back.

She also wasn't a fool. Lieutenant Killian Jones was, decidedly, a very handsome man, and when he was behaving himself and acting like the gentleman he claimed to be, he was a pleasure to be around. _She remembered._ Women at the royal court had started swooning over him the instant he had come with his brother, both eager for refuge. No doubt he had enjoyed the company of some of them, in much closer quarters than with her (well, before all this). No doubt he had..._had_ many women over the years, looking and talking as he did―

Emma frowned even more on closely viewing her reflection in the water. Her hair was a bird's nest, one that looked like it had been terribly built and then abandoned until it became dilapidated. Her skin...oily and grimy, if the smudge marks on her arms and cheeks were any indication.

Damn it, she needed a bath. The stream was too shallow here, but there was a nicely shaded, thickly vegetated lagoon she had noticed during her treks around the island. Keeping this goal in mind, she immediately went back, following the markers Killian had made on the surrounding trees.

When she reached the cave, she imagined that he would be still sleeping.

He was nowhere to be found.

Her first thought was to wait for him to come back from wherever he went.

That was _hours_ ago. Or at least, it felt like hours.

Emma wasn't the most patient of people ― this, she knew. And suddenly, beside growing annoyance, a spark of worry appeared, like when she had disappeared into the jungle and left him behind on the beach.

_What the hell had happened to him?_

* * *

She was frightened to venture off on her own, especially since there was the slightest possibility that Killian could come back and find her gone, and then they'd be searching for each other in circles. But her resolve was stronger, and grabbing the makeshift bag full of hollow coconuts, she set off.

_At least he has boots_, she muttered to herself, feeling the soles of her bare feet flinch from scattered stones and pointy seeds strewn over the ground. Usually, she would choose the sandiest path when navigating the island, but today she had to traverse it out of the usual routes in order to find him.

Emma became more and more puzzled the farther she passed through the jungle, seeing wildlife and trees and flowers she was absolutely sure had not been there days before, her feet hurting like crazy. When she peered up at the sun and realized she had been walking around for hours already, searching for Killian, she really wanted to scream from frustration. But her voice was too hoarse and dry from calling out his name so many times, and besides stopping by a small pool of cool water to wash her face and hands, she had had no rest to speak of.

Hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and frazzled beyond belief, Emma was at a loss at what to do next. Killian was missing―

Something splashed violently...yes, it was a great deal of water, she couldn't mistake that sound...and then she listened more closely, recognizing the roar of falling water.

A waterfall. She'd found another waterfall.

Weaving her way through vines and hanging tree branches, she peeked through the extending foliage to observe her new surroundings. The ring of blooming orchids on every edge of the shore circling the small lake, the soft blue-green hue of the calm waves swaying with the interrupting breeze, the colors of the scenery...it was stunning.

So beautifully raw.

So eye-catching that she only noticed a standing figure off to the side of her vision at the end of her survey.

Relief nearly burst her chest, tightening her lungs, and she longed to run and embrace him ― after scolding him properly, of course. She grinned, lifted her skirt so it wouldn't get entangled in the brambles, and―

Oh. _ Oh._

Emma's face flushed, her eyes burned, and all the shame she had been taught to feel when intruding on such an intimate, private moment came rushing to her head.

_Oh God, this was so wrong._

Minutes passed, and she was shocked to find herself still staring in his direction. _She was supposed to look away, to walk away― _

When light broke through the water, she could see how his shoulder muscles powerfully rippled under the pressure of the waterfall, his head tossed back as he washed his hair, freed from its usual queue, his hands running through the long, wet locks, his palms rubbing over his face. His back was facing her, and thank _everything_ that the waterline was above his waist.

He turned around, as if sensing her presence, and she suppressed a gasp as the bare chest she had done her best to avoid looking at during their time on this island became her new point of view. Dark hair traveled over his torso, trailing downward, and the image of how far it probably went made her blush even more hotly.

But it was his face that made her insides squirm. That damn perfect face, where his lips parted and water trickled into his open mouth, his long eyelashes dancing on his skin as he closed his eyes, his head thrown back under the cascading water, rivulets of it showering his neck while outlining his stubbled cheeks and jaw.

From the deep groan he uttered, it looked like he was truly enjoying his wash.

For Emma, it was the most erotic visage she had ever seen in her life.

When one of his hands sneaked underwater, she scrambled to escape and instead fell down on the ground in her attempt to get the hell out of her hiding place. While she stood up, the back of her dress got caught on something very pokey, and when she had struggled back and forth, to and fro ― all to no avail ― the only solution was to break whatever was holding her prisoner.

The loud snap of the rather thick branch _and_ being violently propelled forward by the force of her efforts ― that got his attention. After scanning the shoreline, his eyes found hers immediately. _As if he had known this whole time― _

In that moment, Emma wished for the prim and prudish Lieutenant Jones to waltz forward and apologize profusely ― after he had dressed, naturally. In direct contradiction to her hope, she was confronted by a rakish and smirking rogue, one who was slowly approaching her where she stood, step by step. One who wasn't covering up his bare form in any way. One who had the face and figure of the lieutenant but who was staring at her ravenously, as if he wanted to eat her alive.

_He wanted her to see him like this._

She really wanted to close her eyes shut when there was no obscuring what lay beneath his hips. But his expression was defying her, challenging her to be the demure, sweet princess. To avoid what was in front of her.

She had never seen a man's private parts before ― perhaps only in anatomy books when her tutor was looking in the opposite direction ― so the reality of it, especially that which belonged to someone she knew, was striking and confusing and _God, she wanted to run_―

"Hmm..." He licked his lips, scrutinizing her heatedly. "It seems the little princess has never seen a cock before, has she?"

She gaped at him, not believing what she was hearing. "Since when do you talk so crudely?" she countered, scorn in her tone.

"Says the spy who was watching me from the bushes."

"I ― I was _worried sick _about you, you idiot!" she exclaimed, her anger rising. "You disappeared, and I looked for you, and I couldn't find you―" Her voice was getting louder and louder, and she was so distracted and flustered by the terrible circumstances that she didn't see him emerge entirely from the water. "Goddamn it, I thought something had happened to you, Killian!"

"Then why not come out and speak to me instead of lurk about?"

"Because...because...well, you're _naked_, you_ ass_!"

He was dripping water into the sand, his feet creating strong outlines as he walked, his body one with the sun as both made use of each other. Even wet, he was quick, standing in front of her in mere seconds. "Shh..." he whispered, his fingers brushing over her lips. "I'm alright, Emma. Just went for a swim, is all."

"This is so unlike you ― what is wrong with you?!" she snapped hysterically, prepared to slap him for her pains. But he caught her wrist.

"Now who's being rude, Princess?" he purred sultrily, tongue caught between his teeth. His gaze darkened when glancing downward. "Oh dear..."

She pursed her lips at his melodrama, rolling her eyes, and tried to evade his touch. But he held her fast and caught her chin with his fingers.

"Uh uh uh ― look down, darling."

Slowly, she did as he directed, hesitant to obey. The sight awaiting her made her mouth go dry, and she nearly choked. There was too much heat clawing at her skin...too much damn heat...

"Oh yes ― I forgot. Never seeing a cock means never seeing it aroused either, correct, m'dear?" His grin was downright feral, the shy lieutenant gone and replaced with...with...

"Jones, stop this teasing! You're acting like some demented pirate!" she shouted, vainly wrestling in his grasp.

"Well, maybe you'd like to _assist_ me in _rectifying_ that situation, love?" His tongue was sliding over every syllable sinfully, making her nether regions begin to throb.

The tip of his erection grazed her thigh, and all that Emma could think was that she was seeing Killian Jones in the nude and _why the hell wasn't he covering up?!_

He cocked his head at her, still watching, and then his smirk widened.

She thought it meant he would let her go, that this nonsense was over, that he had recovered his common sense and his gentile manners.

_He _obviously had other ideas, because one moment, she was standing on her own two feet, and the next, he had hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of flour (_since when was he that strong?_). Arms flailing, she tried to whack at whatever part of him was within reach, he outright _laughed_ at her efforts, and then―

Cold water assailed her senses, and through the echoing sound of a distant thud and several high-pitched shrieks later, her mind processed the fact that yes, he had just tossed her into the water, clothes and all. She bobbed to the surface, glaring at him.

"Thought you'd like to cool off!" he taunted, grinning at her wickedly.

She hit the water frustratedly and spat out what she had accidentally swallowed. "_Fuck you_, Jones!"

Her father would have dropped his cup of tea, her mother would have covered her mouth out of shock, the court would have broken into either peals of laughter or buzzing whispers, but Emma...well, she didn't give a damn anymore. She was on a damn fucking island, far from home, and stranded with the last man on earth she'd ever want to be alone with. Soaking wet and infuriated, she growled under her breath as she regained her footing and tried to walk out of the lake with as much of her dignity intact as possible.

Ignoring that her garments were most likely see-through now thanks to his trick, she waded through and sashayed her hips right in front of him, her nose in the air ― and Emma couldn't deny that she felt some measure of pride that he was struck speechless, frozen in place and _gawking_ at her.

Nevermind that he was still _stark naked_ and she couldn't help peeking at him a little bit. _Heavens, that body... _

Finally, when her eyes met his and she scowled at him, he had the grace to look ashamed of himself. Arrogance had visibly drained from his features, and with head hung down, he turned, searching for his garments and his boots, no doubt.

In one instant, her desire to beat him over the head with a stick for his impudence transformed into begrudging compassion, and she grabbed the lonely shirt and trousers (_all of which had been...cleaned?_) lying on a nearby rock, preparing to hand them to him.

Staring at the bundle, a little smirk crossed her lips, and she reconsidered. "Looking for these?" she teased. When he came forward and tried to take his clothes from her, she drew back. "Say the magic word."

Now he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Which only accentuated his lean..._assets_. Emma gulped hard but continued the façade. "Lass," he tsked at her, "it isn't right to torment a man so. C'mon ― give them over." His right hand was beckoning.

She couldn't explain her sudden determination, but she was going to make Killian Jones suffer. He had humiliated and provoked her, and now...

Now it was her turn.

"Not unless..."

"What?" he said, unamused.

She looked at him from under her eyelashes. "You help me undress."

His jaw literally dropped open. _Mischief achieved._

"So I can bathe as well, of course," she snorted. _Men. They only think about one thing._

After a lengthy pause, where she grew uncomfortable and he even more so, he nodded imperceptibly, finally grabbing his shirt and yanking the trousers on while she faced the opposite direction.

The problem with her dress was that it was tied in front and in the back, so it was nearly impossible to take off without help. Her maid had been a genius with knots, which didn't help Emma's cause. However, tearing off what she didn't need had been a relatively simply solution.

She could feel his breath on her skin as he came up behind her, overshadowing her body with his own. It didn't matter if he was clothed now or not.

To her, the orbit of her world had shifted completely till she wasn't sure which path to take in order to stay balanced. Then his fingers drifted down the thin layers of fabric to reach the laces. She stubbornly ignored what they were doing to her and focused on the task at hand.

The laces in front were a pain in the ass. And she could swear that it was entirely unintentional that the more she picked at the damn knot that held the front together, the more entangled it got. Emma sighed. Damn. Now she would have to ask him to fuss with this one as well.

"Done," he whispered softly, stepping back from her.

"Wait―" she asked, wetting her lips. She pivoted on her heels and realized that he wasn't wearing his shirt. _Why the hell wasn't he wearing his shirt?_ "The one in front ― it's stuck." She added a pout for good measure.

He shook his head, almost prancing forward to do something he clearly didn't want to do. Emma could see it in his expression, how helping her with this was bothering him.

At the last second, she changed her mind. "Look," she breathed out, "you don't have to do this. I'll...handle it." She tugged at the knot manically, desperately trying to get out of this messy business and just take her leave.

"Perhaps you can't handle it," he countered wryly, a small smile emerging. "Let me help, Swan ― I don't mind."

"Well, if you truly don't mind..." she repeated nervously, searching his eyes for confirmation.

Then, in one touch, the earth stopped spinning.

The gentle way he broke through the winding thread, following its twisted course and freeing it, spoke of patience, of years spent at sea. Of waiting. Of wanting to reach what he had waited for. She watched him carefully, his every move imprinted in her sight. He had been ordered to go forth into danger, and he had come back. _He always came back._

When he softly announced that he was finished, she cared less about the dress. His eyes, blue and radiant and glowing, had captivated hers in the net of their combined stare...and she wasn't sure what she wanted from him anymore...

"Take it off?" she murmured back.

"Emma..."

"_Killian_."

His hands were trembling as his fingers glided over her still wet skin, reaching the sprung halves. He hesitated, like before a door he wanted to open but knew he shouldn't. _Handsome, brave, devoted. Who could want more in a man?_

The look on his face when both her half-dress and shift felt off her shoulders, dropping to the ground where they were silent and forgotten, was worth memorizing. Emma shivered ― she had never been seen uncovered by anyone, not even her maid. Her cheeks burned, and she bit hard on her bottom lip, very self-conscious.

When Killian did nothing, embarrassment swept in and tried to usher her away from him. She couldn't stand the very thought of rejection, and here he was, not―

His arm snaked around her waist when she pulled back and brought her forward.

Emma could hardly inhale when he pressed his lips to hers desperately, her breasts tumbling against his chest in the process as his arms embraced her. Her nipples tightened at the sensation of feeling his heart beat, of feeling her first kiss, and when his tongue licked between her lips, she sighed, ready for him to show her what he could do. _What he wanted to do ― to her._

Her fingers ran through his dark hair frantically when his tongue explored her mouth, tasting and swirling inside. His teeth nipped at her, and she tried to keep up with him, sucking on his bottom lip. He moaned, returning the favor by entangling his tongue with hers. All the while, his hands felt her, his roughened skin rousing the most peculiar thrills everywhere his fingers traveled.

Then, he pulled back slightly, breathing hard and staring at her heatedly. His hands lowered minimally, and in a flash of foresight, she understood what he wanted. Reluctantly leaving his lips, she took his hands and placed them on top of her breasts.

The core of her being shuddered from pleasure when he squeezed them at first. When she moaned and whimpered as he repeated the gesture, he began to knead them both in earnest, and his thumbs circled her nipples. "God, _Emma_," he groaned.

Her hands trailed down his chest, longing to go further but afraid to. _She didn't know what to do next..._

But when her body reacted for her, when she arched her back as he continued his ministrations, he was bolder and took them one step further. Tentatively, he lowered his mouth to her skin and began to kiss around her bosom, exploring the valley between her breasts. He drew closer and closer, tongue circling the curves of tender flesh, lips joining in to lavish sensitive skin with wet, hot kisses. Finally releasing his hands from their hold, he grasped her hips firmly.

When his lips swallowed her nipple, tucking it into his mouth, she gripped the back of his neck hard with both hands, eyes rolling back in her head. Then he began to suckle, licking and nipping at the taut bud, and she cried out, her hips thrusting against his of their own accord. There was a low hum in his back of his throat as he switched to the other breast, treating its neglected nipple with equal attention. Emma couldn't stop herself from moaning his name meanwhile, her nails raking down his back. He growled in reply, stealing another kiss, his gaze alight.

There was heat boiling between her thighs, and she curled one leg around his, wanting no more distance between them. She had read and heard stories, imagined what sexual desire could be like... But Killian Jones and all he had to offer was something else entirely. Everything he did ― every glance, every touch ― set her on fire within, and―

He cupped her ravished breasts in his hands, and her eyelids fluttered shut. He was breathing hard, and his muscles were quivering under her touch. "Emma...my darling...you taste divine..." His voice was rough and husky, burning with his need for her. "You're so beautiful..." He took her hands from around his neck and kissed them, placing them facedown on his shoulders. "Kiss me, love ― _please_." The pleading and wonder in his eyes, consumed by lust as they were, made her smile until her cheeks hurt. His hands surrounded her face in a fervent caress, and she drowned in his scent, treasuring the moment. He was her own personal sun, and his beaming smile was new light.

His kisses were passionate and unrestrained and willful, and she never wanted them to stop. The more he gave, the more she returned, accustoming herself to the rhythm of his lips. He kept hungrily exploring her body, running his fingers through her rampant curls first and squeezing her behind last, and Emma wrapped herself around him in response to his encouragement, her blood rushing wildly when he slowly lowered her to the ground, soon following her. Her legs quickly parted open and fell to each side, welcoming him.

The grainy sand scratched at her back, and she pondered the safety of demonstrating such intimacy in the open. But all her doubts fled when Killian melded his figure to hers, and she could feel his erection pulsing as his clothed lower half ground against her bare hips. He was whispering her name over and over again as he skimmed over her neck with his mouth, his chest hair caressing her breasts, and her fingers threaded through the still wet strands of his hair, tugging at them suddenly when he sought her nipples again with his tongue.

"Killian!" she mewled. "I ― I _want_ you..."

The vibrations of his answering groans sent another wave of arousal through her, and her hand crept dauntlessly between them, inching downward to where his hard length was stroking her through the fabric of his trousers. _So foreign and strange, but promising so much pleasure..._ When her fingertips brushed it, he stilled altogether. A clench of dread and anticipation tied her stomach in knots.

"What's wrong?" She tried to angle her head so she could kiss him again, but he turned away from her. Propping himself on his elbows, he raised himself up and stood, brushing sand off his limbs. Lying there, naked and exposed and throbbing and alone, Emma felt like crying.

But she couldn't let him see her lose control of herself.

"We ― we can't do this," he stammered finally, careful to not look at her. She rolled over to reach for her garments, and as hastily as she could, she put them on, though the laces remained undone.

"You seemed more than ready to have me just seconds ago," she retorted, trying to sound as cross as possible. It was a lie. She was hurt and slighted and _aching_ inside ― but not angry. Upset, yes. Glaring at him, she stared pointedly at his crotch. "You still are, apparently."

He blushed, but aside from biting his lip and peering down at the sand, he made no move to address the issue or defend himself. Cheeks flushed from exertion, lips reddened from their kisses, irises darkened from desire, his _cock_ straining against his tight trousers...oh, he still wanted her. And Emma wanted to pursue the matter, but she felt too ashamed. This all has escalated to such an unknown level that she really didn't know what to say to him now.

"Emma ― let me explain," he begged as she nearly fled the scene, sprinting toward the interloping trees.

"I _don't_ want to hear your excuses," she said, teeth gritted so her voice wouldn't tear apart.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. "But you don't understand, love―"

"I'm _not_ your _love_!"

Killian looked stricken. "My feelings for you...," he uttered brokenly, "they're more than... If you let me ― if we did...go _further_... There's no telling how far it would go. And I ― I wouldn't be able to be with you just once. You...you're a princess ― the crown princess ― _my_ princess ― and I'm...I'm just a sailor in your parents' navy."

"Oh." Even now, her body craved his. "Well, it's of no consequence, is it?" she returned spitefully. "This ― it was a one-time thing." She swallowed her tears, needing to disappear and not see him gaze at her so longingly and sadly. "I'll..." Her heart was pounding, her sight blurry. "I'll see you back at the cave."

And with a whip of her skirt, she ran, heedless of his cries echoing after her.

* * *

Killian was furious. Mostly, it was with himself, but that didn't stop him from cursing everything in sight ― as well as the _Jewel of the Realm_, the weather, the island, the kingdom, and even his brother. Once he had pulled on his boots, he kicked at every tree stump in sight.

Damn it, she had been in his arms. _Willingly_. And she had _wanted_ him, as much as he did her. Her kisses, her affection, her fervent response to him...it had all come at him like a hurricane at sea, blowing his expectations out of the water. In all his years, he had never believed that she would _ask_ him to make love to her.

No matter. His Swan was long gone, and it was _he_ who had bloody chased her away with his talk of honor and what they could and couldn't do.

What a fucking imbecile he was.

Emma had been right ― their dalliance had left him hard and wanting, and now he would have to take care of this mishap by his own hand. Giving one last long look at the waterfall he had chanced upon in the morning, he scoffed at his foolishness as he paced in Emma's footsteps, following her trail back to their shelter.

_Emma._ His thoughts drifted back to how splendid she was, her body as gorgeous as he had always imagined. And then her mind and her soul, both noble and true, drawing him in further and further.

_If she only knew how much he loved her..._

Shaking his head, he scolded himself severely, so much so that he almost missed how the trail branched off suddenly in a different direction. And judging by the snapped foliage, it was a freshly created one.

She might hate him now. She might never want to see him again. But he still had a duty to her parents ― _and himself_ ― to protect her and look out for her welfare.

There wasn't much about this place that was a surprise anymore. No wild animals, no natives. Just a stretch of wildlife, without even a single bloody bird. It was surreal, to be honest. His boots stamped out weeds and climbing vines as he tred onward, concerned about Emma. All these days and weeks, being so close to her and unable to do anything about it...it had driven him mad. So he had pushed her away, because letting her in and having it turn to nothing would hurt _him_ too much.

He really was a damn moron. _Couldn't even take a chance on the woman of his dreams._

In a moment like this, he would go to Liam for advice, ask him for help. His brother was always there for him, and his absence was felt now more than ever. Hell, even David's counsel would be most appreciated ― despite the fact that yes, he was his king _and_ Emma's father.

Taking out his sword, he swiped through unfamiliar foliage, and the monotony of it lulled him into a state of dizziness, the afternoon heat tickling his consciousness.

He really wasn't shocked at all to find himself at the edge of another lake, though this one was much smaller in size, closer to the range of the sea, and therefore better termed a lagoon.

And right in the middle of this clear lagoon was his runaway princess, floating leisurely on her back.

Killian felt his veins implode at the sight of her, as bare as she had been not too long ago. Making sure he was hidden by overlapping tree leaves and shrubs, he slowly undid his trousers, letting them pool around his calves by the tops of his boots, mind fixated on her and his needy cock.

It was easy to picture Emma's beauty when she was right in front of him, her lovely face highlighted further. Then his focus shifted to her breasts, peeking out from the water with nipples erect and wanton, and he began to stroke himself, taking his upright length into his hands. Her hips tilted upward, her folds dusted with soft, moistened golden hair, and the pattern of his steady pumps increased. Closing his eyes, he only had to recall her moans and sighs as he pleasured her, her skin devoured by his mouth and hands while she sought him in equal right. He could only imagine the wetness between her thighs if their lustful moment had continued, how it would feel to be inside her, to take her on her back with his hands gripping her thighs as he―

Biting down hard on his tongue to stifle his primal groan, he shuddered as he came hard, his release spilling onto the dirt. The tension in his muscles departed, and only the ground, soaked with his secret, was a witness to his act of desperation. Aloof and silent, the jungle vowed to keep it that way.

He watched from afar as Emma bathed herself, tried hard not to gape, and left only after she had emerged from the water and dressed herself once more, safe and sound. Hurrying back to the cave the same way he had come, he decided that his main prerogative should be getting the princess back home and off this island.

He could never have her.

She deserved much better than him.

It wasn't right to pine after her so.

After a minute of fighting, torturing his feelings into submission when they resisted termination, and pacing fiercely across stone, he gave up.

Combing through his brain for ideas, he started working twice as hard as before. Only through strenuous activity could he forget that for once in his life, it was the right place and the right time for him to seize the moment.

But he just _couldn't_. Because it might be the moment for him, but not for Emma.

And it was her happiness that mattered above all else.

_Happiness above love._

* * *

Emma wanted to talk to him about what had occurred between them ― and, more importantly, what had been left unfinished. But every time she worked up the courage to ask him, to say something, he would blatantly ignore her, never meeting her eyes and continually occupied with what he called "a means off this bloody piece of land."

She knew he was attempting to craft a longboat, that he had set up fires along the beach using oil he had collected from fish _(yes, he had somehow mysteriously figured out a way to catch them ― probably through the use of that net he had fashioned from thick twine_), that he had found a way to preserve enough fruit and water so that she didn't have to go out and collect both everyday, that he had given her a dagger he had made from fish bone... Now that even the most menial task had been taken out of her hands, she had nothing to do, and she was all alone for the most part. Except at night, when their bodies would lie side by side while they themselves were miles and miles apart.

She didn't like that.

Her legs dangling along the side of the small cliff, her hair whipping about her head, she stared out at the shimmering ocean and crowded clouds, wishing that Captain Jones and the _Jewel_ would come soon so she could be back in her kingdom again, where everything and everyone was not as confusing as Killian Jones. One minute, he was kissing her till her wits were numb, and the next, he was as remote as the island itself, not linked to anything.

Worst of all...was the hidden flame blazing inside her, refusing to die. The way she would scan his body in the firelight at night, her fingers itching to touch his. How she longed to soften his frustration by running a hand through his hair, nuzzling his brow, and pressing her cheek against his as she stepped into his solace and broke its lingering cobwebs. She could climb over the barrier of his empty arms and fill that lonely space, giving him the embrace he needed.

That silly grudge of hers? The one where she was a petty child who didn't get what she wanted and then cried because it was gone?

_No longer a child...but a woman._

A woman who knew what she wanted and was willing to wait for it.

She was willing to wait for _him_.

It would hurt like hell to discover that he had lost interest in her, that whatever was between them was gone... She couldn't stop believing in him, though. He had turned away, but she was still there. _Like she had done to him when he had returned._

Suitors had come and gone since she was sixteen, but she had laughed at every one, never taking their intentions seriously. Her parents had despaired of her ever finding a spouse, scolding her for her pessimistic attitude, but looking back, she understood why she had rejected all those men.

_That's it_, she settled. He was _not_ going to put her aside again. If he wouldn't speak to her ― she ― she ― _she would make him. _

By whatever means possible. Flirtation, seduction, threats, and subjugation were all viable options...

* * *

Killian was dead tired when the monsoon hit, flooding the island with a violent outburst of rain that was hard and unyielding. _Much like a certain young lady he knew_. He had left Emma quiet and dry in the cave after he had ordered her to stay, but after checking his implements for catching any passing ship's notice, he hadn't made it back to escape the deluge.

Well, it looked like a deluge. Water was everywhere, swallowing plants and roots as it ran unchecked across the terrain.

By the time he reached the mouth of the cavern, the raindrops were pelting his face, and every hit stung mightily. His clothes were thoroughly drenched, his skin soaked to the bone, his queue plastered to his neck. He felt a hundred years old, decrepit and worn weary.

The fire inside, its heat pervasive, drew him inside, and of course, the first thing he was faced with was a distraught Emma.

"Killian!" She jumped up. He half-expected her to slap him, not throw her arms around him in a tight embrace, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "You're back," she whispered hoarsely, snuggling into him. "I didn't want you to get lost in the storm, but I didn't know where to look for you."

Slowly, his resolve wavered, and his hand reached behind to stroke down her back. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, brushing his lips over her collarbone, and her hold on him strengthened. _In every way..._

When he winced, her touch just missing the gash he had earned today from being too stubborn about eviscerating a particular tree branch, she pulled back to look him over from head to foot. "You're hurt!" He let her drag him to the fire, taking comfort in her soft chuckles as she inspected his wet clothing. "And totally drenched..."

Speechless, he eyed her closely when her expression fell as she realized that she had nothing to offer him in terms of help. They had no fabrics other than those on their backs, and it seemed that he would have to dry while wearing his saturated attire.

She finally saw the blood seeping through his shirt, and he hastened to turn away, not wanting her pity. "Oh ― I forgot to tell you ― today, I found herbs I actually recognized, just in the grove outside this cave ― and I ― I made healing brews from all of them, as you never know when you may need healing herbs―" she rambled, taking several coconuts in her arms and depositing them by his feet.

"But first..." she continued, her anxious tone quieting, "first, we need to get you dry."

"I can do it myself," he muttered after enduring her meticulous inspection, struggling to get his shirt off with one arm. No matter how hard he tried, he ended up looking like a complete fool.

"Hey...let me help you." She started to pull his hand through his sleeve, but he yanked it out of his grasp.

"I can do it!"

"No, you can't!" she yelled back, her eyes glowing with hurt. "Stop being such a stuck-up prig and admit that you need me!"

Her choice of words echoed throughout the cave, resonating for miles, and they both stopped short, gazing at each other. _She had no idea how much he wanted to say that she was his one desire, his only need..._

"Alright," he said gruffly, his hesitation slinking away, "I apologize. Mistress Swan, would you please assist me in getting these damn rags off me?"

A nervous giggle escaped Emma, but her anger visibly evaporated, and she drew near again, careful not to exacerbate his wounds. Her touch on his skin was so soothing, so cool and yet to warm, that he closed his eyes, biting his lower lip to hide his grateful moans. He couldn't help grimacing, however, when she took her handkerchief and dabbed at the largest laceration.

"The cuts sting that much?" Her green gaze was fixed on him.

Stripped to his waist, he felt strangely embarrassed. But when his instincts overcame him and he caressed her cheek with his knuckles, she didn't retreat. Instead, she leaned into his roving fingers, and his blood sang. "More than you know, Emma."

She bit her lip and glanced at the ground. "Aha!" she voiced suddenly, jerking backward and tearing the bottom of her skirt. He was shocked as she gathered strips of it and brought them to him. "Bandages," she announced proudly, and he smiled. _Clever lass ― how I wish you could be mine._

Making him sit down on their mat, she began to anoint his scrapes with the herbs, wiping at the wounds themselves gently to clean out the dirt. "So..." she started cautiously, binding his elbow first, "you've been...very busy lately."

"I have to be, if we ever want to get out of here."

She lowered her face, falling locks overshadowing it so he couldn't see her expression. "It's...not as bad here as I thought it was."

"Oh?"

Nodding, Emma peeked at him. "Well, we're okay. We have a roof over our heads, food to eat...and each other. What more could two people want?"

His pulse thrummed to the sounds of her voice, the movements of her lips, the flickering of her eyes. _Impossible... If she was saying what he thought she was... _ Killian attempted to bring humor to chase out his building hopes. "You're saying that you like being stranded with a stuck-up lieutenant who has no social skills and is rude to a fault?" he jested weakly.

"Is that what you believe I think of you?" She rubbed lightly over the gash on his abdomen, seeming to greatly concentrate on its sanitary state. Her consideration was doing wicked things to his focus on her face. "Is that what you think of yourself?" she questioned lowly.

He couldn't answer, not when the pain of his reply would tear his heart further. She traced the curves of his muscles with her fingers. His breath hitched in his throat.

"Do you know why I was so upset with you when you came back from your adventures? Why...I didn't want to have anything to do with you?"

"Please..." he begged, his jaw clenching, "let's not―"

"It was because you had misunderstood me."

"What?" He was utterly baffled.

She rested her palms on his chest. "When you left without saying good-bye...I felt so lost. It was stupid that I ignored you afterwards, I'll admit ― but what I've always wanted to ask you was...why?" Her eyes scoured his, searching for truth and _god, she was the shining star of his life and she always would be_― "Why, when there was so much between us to be said?"

Killian gulped. "Emma...the reason...that I couldn't see you again...wasn't that I didn't want to. I did want to. But I couldn't...because then..." He smiled wistfully. "Then I'd _see_ you, and _bloody damnation_, I wouldn't be able to go, even if my brother and your father forced me to. And also..."

"Yes?" she whispered, her eyelashes fluttering prettily and catching the light of the fire.

"You meant too much to me. I wanted you to have your best chance, and if I never came back... Well, I wanted you to be happy, even if it wasn't...with _me_."

"_Meant_?" she murmured against his lips, her tongue caught between her teeth.

He laughed wryly. Of course she would notice. "_Mean_," he whispered back.

She was staring at him intently, processing his thoughts in her own mind. "Killian," she began, her voice trembling, "I want you to know...that I didn't push you away because I hated you. I pushed you away because you hurt me, though unintentionally, and while I wasn't aware of _that_, I thought..." She sniffled. "God, when I saw you set off on that ship...I wanted you to _stay_."

"It seems we've been at cross purposes all this time." He cupped her cheek. "And I...I crossed a line, that day by the waterfall, and again and again. Emma, I shouldn't have―"

"Shh..." she hushed, bringing a grin to his lips when he recalled that last time, he had shushed her. _When he was nude, no less._

Bowing her head, she paused, and he thought she would remove herself from his company, that they would end this conversation and say their good-nights. That he would never be this close to her, or see her this vulnerable, again.

"You're still wet," she commented absently, fingering the laces of her dress.

He shrugged. "The heat of the fire will dry me," he sighed. "Eventually, in any case."

Her gaze glistened, she pursed her lips, and he thought―

She raised herself, standing on her feet, and his heart fell. Then he saw her hands drop down to her half-dress, and before he could register just what was going on, she had disrobed herself quickly, her skirt about her feet and her upper garments in her hands.

Killian told himself to look away. _Look away, you damned man― _

Emma knelt down beside him, and he found no trace of shame in her scrutiny of him. _God, her swaying breasts..._ "Here ― it's dry ― and warm, in addition." She started to pat his shoulders, fluffing his hair―

"Emma ― you can't." He stopped her wandering hands. "They're your only clothes."

"But Killian...you could get sick ― and anyway...I want to." She swallowed hard, glancing down. "You really should take off your trousers, too."

His blood was roaring in his ears so loudly, all reason gone and burnt to ashes. Without argument, he easily slipped them off, his boots already sitting by themselves near the fire. Fearing she would flee, he made no further move. After hanging their clothes on the small rack he had fashioned out of long bamboo stems, she obviously took his patience as a sign to continue, and his limbs tingled when her skin was in contact with his, careful not to nudge his bandages―

Her lips were in front of his, tempting and lush and free. But he had to let her choose. This choice was hers, and only hers.

"There." She drew back. "I'm finished."

"Are you?" He felt himself flush at the insinuation in his query, but it was satisfyingly daring, to confront their relationship like this.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, only for her fingertips to pick at the fraying ribbon tying his queue. She loosened it completely, and it fell to the ground, a past memory as she threaded her hands through his drying hair, now untamed. Her voice then trilled in his ear, and he was weightless, hanging on her every gesture. "Never. Why, we've only just begun," she purred, her mouth finding his neck, soft kisses lining the column of his throat. But even how she kissed him...there was uncertainty and gentleness there, belying that she was wanton in any way. His sweet, innocent Emma...

He grasped her chin with his fingers, and she gazed at him from beneath her eyelashes. "And I'll always want to begin each day with you, darling ― no matter where we are."

When her lips melted against his like butter and honey, her taste a sweet, heady wine he could savor eternally, he took his time in returning her kiss, guiding her onto his lap, sweeping her legs off the floor so she was lying down and he was hovering over her.

Her smile was...incredible. He ran a hand down her arm, entwining their fingers at the end, and then he slipped himself between her legs.

"Does it hurt?" He cocked his head at her. "A girl's first time...with a man?" she clarified, biting her lip when he started to grin knowingly.

"Well, from what I've heard," he cleared his throat, "it _might_ hurt, yes. But that depends mostly on the man and how he makes the lady..._feel_ beforehand."

She frowned. "Did the girls you've been with say it hurt?"

Ah, yes...she assumed... He blushed deeply. "Emma...you'd be my _first_." Rubbing at the back of his neck with his other hand, he squirmed under her stare, watching how understanding came to her.

"You've...you've never been with a woman? Ever?" There was wonder in her voice. _Please let that be wonder, not disappointment..._

"I...I was..." He couldn't meet her eyes. "I was waiting...for you."

A half-smile graced her lips. "You've been waiting for _me_...all this time?"

"You're worth much more than just the wait, lass," he rasped, feeling his groin harden with want when she outlined his jaw with her fingers. "Our kiss...was my first."

"So...if you've never..." Her cheeks became rosy. "How do you know...all that you know?"

Both flustered by and pleased with her shyness, Killian coughed. "Heard things..._read_ things. Like yourself, no doubt." He winked at her, and she giggled. Her playful attitude gave him courage to go on. "Besides, I've always believed...that with the right woman...everything will come together naturally." He gave her a lopsided smirk. "No doubt you wanted me to be very experienced, hmm?

She pondered his question only for a second. "No," she said with finality, growing serious. "I know what I want. And what I want...is to be with you." Her smile widened. "I can be only yours, and you...you can be only mine. We can belong only to each other, with no one else getting in the way. No memories, no regrets...just you and me."

He was flying, higher and higher... "Yes," he agreed happily, "just you and me."

And he sank down, down, down, spiraling fast into the radiance of Emma when they shared another, much longer kiss, his beloved taking the whole of his heart and soul into her beckoning arms.

* * *

"Darling," he whispered when they came up for air, "I don't really know what I'm doing. You'll have to tell me...what you like. What you'd like for me to do."

Emma blushed again, but she didn't let go of him. Sitting up, she captured his lips with hers more hungrily than before, letting him guide her tongue into his mouth, nibbling on it gently. Moaning softly, she ran her hands down his back. "I want you to do everything to me you ever dreamed of doing," she panted. "I want to ― touch you. To feel you...everywhere." Staring up at him, she breathed, "Touch me?"

"With pleasure." His voice was a husky rumble as his hands wandered from her shoulders down her sides, stroking her hips with his thumbs while his fingers groped her behind meaningfully. She daringly caressed the back of his legs with her calves, and when he tentatively placed them around his waist, she laughed.

"We really don't know what to do, do we?" she snickered, gasping when he swooped down and began to nip at her neck.

"Actually, some things have been in a work in progress for _years._" He grinned wickedly at her, earning another of her marvelous laughs. His fingers teased her nipples, circling them, and she began to breathe heavily. "What I did by the waterfall," he murmured by her ear, "did you like it? Would you like me to do it again?"

Her hands traveled up and down his front, tormenting him. His retribution was licking at the hollow of her throat. "Killian," she gasped as he placed layer upon layer of open-mouthed kisses along her chest, "_god_ ― yes."

Both curvaceous breasts were awaiting him, the state of her nipples telling him that she was in the initial stages of arousal. Up and down they rose with her every breath, and his palms caught them midway, holding them steady. "So perfect," he groaned, aching to taste them again. One nipple, firm and taut and tender, was soon enveloped by his tongue and teeth, his lips swallowing it, and he stared pointedly at his Swan as he sucked and licked, growling when she arched her neck and her lips parted from pleasure.

"Oh ― _oh_!" Grabbing at his shoulders, she squeezed them hard when his right hand kneaded her other breast, tweaking its nipple in time with his ministrations on the other. She cried out when he transferred to the second and continued to suckle her. Meanwhile, their hips were undulating, though awkwardly and not in rhythm.

He finally released her breasts, smiling at her before trailing kisses down between her ribs until he found her stomach. He felt her body stiffen when he went lower.

"Emma ― talk to me, love. Am I doing something wrong? Do you...do you want me to stop?"

"N–no. I'm...enjoying myself." She smiled back at him. "But maybe..."

"Yes?"

"Talk to me?" She bit her bottom lip, embarrassed. "Tell me what you're doing, so I can...keep up."

"Oh, my dear..." He came up and kissed her fiercely, tangling his fingers in her splendid golden strands. "You don't have to do anything tonight ― tonight, it's all about you."

"But―" She pouted. "I want to participate."

Smirking, he aligned their hips together and then rolled them, reveling in her answering moan. "My beautiful Swan," he crooned, "soon you'll be participating in full measure, I promise. Trust me..."

His erection was already painful, and he knew that his release would be soon. But Emma wasn't ready yet, and he wanted sex to be an amazing experience for her...just as he wanted it to be for himself. They were losing their virginity to each other, and he was going to have her come first.

His fingers reached the apex of her thighs, and she whimpered. "Please..." she pleaded, her green eyes hooded but still mesmerizing him, "be gentle."

He stopped his fondling immediately, going down to her so she could feel every part of him against her. "I would never," he accentuated each word with a kiss against her lips, her cheeks, her face, "never do anything you didn't want. If you feel uncomfortable for even a moment, I'll stop at your word."

She pressed her forehead against his. "I don't want you to stop, Killian. I want you...and I want you to make love to me." Taking his hand in hers, she slid them down until they reached his original destination, and cupping her, he slowly parted her folds with his fingers.

"I'm going to enter you now, my love ― and I'm ― I'm going to touch you, inside, so you'll be ready for me later," he stammered, trying to hide his nervousness. Feeling her thigh muscles flutter, Killian hesitated, but she was peering down at his cock, and her gaze was heated, and eventually, his lust pushed him to slip a finger within, stroking in and out.

"How will you know it's working?" she asked warily.

His other hand searched for hers. "You'll feel a rhythmic pull, in your belly." He swallowed hard. "Tell me when you feel it."

When she responded to his touch, rubbing against his finger, he increased the tempo of his thrusts, careful not to hurt her. Wetness, evidence of her thriving need, leaked out on his hand.

"Killian!" she yelled out suddenly, arching her back, her legs squeezing his waist. Her other hand reached for him. He nestled between her thighs, letting her embed her fingers in his hair.

"Darling..." He kissed her deeply, her arms wrapped around him. His finger withdrew, and when his hand rested on her stomach, he could just sense the low hum of the growing contractions inside. "I think you're ready."

Emma was staring at him, wide-eyed and looking very frightened. "Killian―"

"Don't worry," he soothed. "We'll take it one step at a time."

The tip of his shaft grazed her entrance, and she closed her eyes, biting on her lip. He nudged her inner lips open as gently as possible, lifting himself up on one hand in order to hold her hips with the other. Sliding in, he felt her maidenhead, and in that moment, he knew there was no going back.

"Emma..." His lips brushed hers. "Look at me?"

Her eyelids opened. "Killian?"

"Are you...are you sure?"

She seemed to be really contemplating it. Then, she nodded. "Yes ― yes, I'm sure." She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "_Take me_."

"It's about bloody time." He lunged inward, covering her cry of pain with his mouth and devouring her moans. Then, he started to thrust in and out, showing her how to meet his hips with hers. She came up as he went down, and with every passing minute, her walls clenched around him. All too soon, that familiar feeling of completion came to the back of his mind. Desperately, he sought to pleasure her.

"I'm going to touch your clitoris now, my lass ― and when I do, you're going to feel _bloody fantastic_, Emma," he hissed, seeking her nub as he continued to grind himself against her.

Clinging to him with all her might, she screamed, her body falling apart in the bliss of her climax, and Killian groaned loudly, arching his neck when he surged forward, his release almost in time with hers. Under the haze of their joint orgasms, only fleeting thoughts, faint and so far away, registered in his mind.

_No, nothing would ever be the same again._

_For now, he was hers...and finally ― finally ― this night, she became his._

* * *

**A/N: I had actually planned for at least 3 more love scenes to be in this chapter, but the length of it got out of hand as it is, and then one scene happened beyond my reckoning... Well, you'll see those other scenes in the next (final) chapter, no doubt.**

**As far as the smut's concerned, please don't kill me. The characters wanted what they wanted, and I just followed their lead. *ahem* Nobody's perfect.**

**Anyway, don't forget to leave a review!**


End file.
